


Week of the Broken

by MarjorieAlyss



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abuse, Cutting, Drabble Collection, Drinking, Homosexuality, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarjorieAlyss/pseuds/MarjorieAlyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After living for so long and enduring so much it seems almost comical that it would be something so small that broke them in the end</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prefect Sunday

Glass shatters, papers fly, frames break, the phone will need replacing (again), tea sets smash as Arthur destroys his office to bits for some infinite number he lost track of a few centuries ago. Destroying simply because he wants to. Simply because he needed to get it all out before the pain killed him. He screams not because he wants to or needs to. He screams himself so hoarse he won't be able to talk for days not out of some twisted definition of fun but simply because he CAN. He cries so hard he can't see through the tears simply because everything has become too much and he is no longer strong enough to deal with it. Because no matter how much he destroys or screams or cries there is no one there to stop him…

…No one there to save him.

And when he collapses sobbing in the middle of the destruction clinging to a de-framed beat up picture of his four older brothers as if it's his only lifeline he decides he's had enough.

It was Sunday.

Sunday was supposed to be a family day. The twins come over from Ireland and ALL of them hung out together after church. Yet somehow…

…. They always managed to leave him behind.

He had lost track of the many times and ways they had left him to a Sunday afternoon alone destroying his office. This time hurt the worst though and he was fed up and just done with it all in general.

It was Sunday.

Since it had fallen on a Sunday Arthur had thought they would at least tell him 'Happy Birthday' before abandoning him to his own violent nature while they went out and had fun together. Why did he even bother hoping? No one had remembered his birthday in decades, why would they now? Why would that change? The sun had set on the British Empire long ago so he had no colonies to fuss over it. All of his politicians didn't care as long as they got what they wanted (Besides the Royal Family but he can't remember the last time they had noticed the date either). He didn't have any friends because he spent so much of his time doing the work of four nations and bailing his brothers out of whatever situations they find themselves in (His attitude didn't help his case either but it's a stressful thing getting yelled at by his bosses because though he goes to these meetings he can't report anything of interest and most of the people here have abandoned him long ago anyway so why should he try to be what they want when it doesn't even matter to them?). So no one but his brothers would even bother to remember. Not that they did.

It was Sunday.

He had checked his phone to make sure everyone was still meeting after church, got dressed, sat through mass, socialized a bit, and went home so he could be there when his brothers showed up…

…Only to see them already stoned in a pub on the way. And they were loudly complaining about him…

…again.

No matter how hard he tried to be perfect it just wasn't good enough.

HE wasn't good enough.

Continuing on home anyway he checks his answering machine to see that all four of them had cancelled on him again. Maybe this time he would call their bluff. They had been stoned in a pub not at their houses with the flu. No. It wasn't worth it. The physical and verbal abuse that would follow doing such a thing wasn't needed. The emotional was a little more than he could stand right now anyway thank you very much. Besides, he was done with all this shit.

Crumbling the photo in his hand but not letting go of it he reaches for his lighter that had ended up near him and flicked on the flame. He was done with it all, so he was going to burn it all down.

It was Sunday…

… And Arthur was done trying to be perfect.


	2. Escaping Monday

Blood dripped from the open wound that would close itself far too soon for the Norwegian's tastes. Pain washing everything from mind if only for a short time.

The stress

The hopelessness

The fear

The cold

The hurt

The sense of not belonging

The never ending darkness…

None of it would stay attached to him when he created enough pain. So that's exactly what he did.

What started out as tightly clenched fists turned into scratching over the years. The scratching had later slowly evolved into cutting. However every once in a while, on the darkest coldest nights in Norway, Lukas burned himself. But that only happened when he was feeling desperate for an escape and none of his other more used methods were working. For a cold country that had spent most of his life at war and trying to find warmer weather the fire brought back memories better left buried deep in the back of his mind if not forgotten completely and the brutal scorching heat felt wrong against his skin. Not that any of this mattered.

No one noticed anyway. To busy in their own little worlds to notice that his own had crumbled long ago.

Today was by far the worst though.

Not even sticking his hand into that lit fireplace of his was enough today.

Today was Monday.

Over the last week he had searched, bought, made, and wrapped five presents. The task made harder by the need to keep all activity secret from the other Nordics who always seemed to choose the worst times to be all-present.

Today was Monday.

Today he had finished the last finishing touches on his gifts and snuck over to Finland's house careful not to be seen (Using the help of his Fae of course). Today he had placed those five packages under the tree as Denmark was out drinking, Iceland was over at Sven's house with said Swedish country and Sealand, and Finland was making his rounds as Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, Julenissen… or whoever supposedly brought the children of that specific country their gifts. Today two out of the five Nordics were not where they were supposed to be.

Today was Monday.

Today Lukas had just finished placing his gifts, unmarked as to who the sender was as always, when he had to hide from Denmark and Iceland who had just entered the house. Today Norway was forced to bare witness to his lover and younger brother being involved with each other intimately. Today the Norwegian felt a self hatred worse than any he had felt before.

Today was Monday.

Lukas stands staring at the two Nordics, shattering behind his ever present mask of emotionlessness. Ice sees him first, his violet eyes going wide in shock and guilt. He doesn't push Denmark away or move to hide and make excuses. They both know it would be futile even if he had. The Dane however doesn't feel that way at all. Looking at the Norwegian who is already edging towards the door he smiles. Not seeing anything wrong with the current situation.

Today was Monday.

"Come join in Nor." Denmark says motioning to Norwegian closer as he pulls away from Iceland. Shaky hands move up and close around the cross barrette in said Nordic's hair. Denmark falters slightly at the ice cold silence and the sight of his Norway fingering the symbol of his ownership as if he were debating taking it off, his smile beginning to turn into a sneer that Lukas knew all to well from the days of the Kalmar Union. "What's the matter Nor?" He snarls, sitting up and going to stand, "Did pathetic little Norge actually think he could be enough for me?" The older Nordic nation asks mockingly. Iceland watches eyes wide and frozen in fear, confused at what was happening mostly due to the others sheltering him during the time when Norway's relationship with his older brother wasn't exactly safe.

Today was Monday.

Tears forming in his eyes Lukas yanks the barrette from his hair and chucks it at his older brother who catches it then clenches his fist around it so tight the cross snaps. "You actually thought that didn't you?" The Dane laughs had Norway not been all too familiar with the ice cold warning that his older brother and once again ex-lover was about to strike he probably would have felt terrified and fled. But he is and so he simply stands there and takes the truths dripping like poisoned honey from the lips he was idiotic enough to once again believe had changed. Not wanting the fury to be aimed at Iceland just because of the Norwegian's own incompetent failure to please.

Today was Monday.

Iceland runs out the door as Denmark raises his hand to strike. Insults and mockery hurting Lukas worse than the slap that puts the taste of blood into his mouth and makes his neck snap sideways from the impact. After a while the door opens and Sweden stands there eyebrow raised at the scene in front of him but making no motion to intervene. Eyes cold and full of fury. Norway stands up from the floor where he has dumped a significant amount of his blood and quickly but quietly leaves the very soon to be warfront. His two older brothers ignoring his existence in favor of having a staring contest before the battle Norway would have once tried to stop from happening begins.

Today was Monday.

Strike after desperate strike carves bloody lines far deeper into the Nordic country's skin than he had ever done to himself before. Yet no matter how much he tried to create enough pain to escape from everything it was now simply too much for him to run from.

Today was Monday.

Vision blurring, hands shake as Lukas leans against his bedroom wall just to stay semi-upright, blood pools dangerously around him. Tears stream down his emotionless face and he sobs even after his grip on the knife falters causing it to clang once it reaches the floor.

Today was Monday…

...And Norway was done running from the truth.


	3. Invisible Tuesday

Russia said "become one with mother Russia da" 60 times, Italy exclaimed "Pasta" 105, France harassed England, America ate 540 burgers after coming in an hour late, China complained about "Foreigners", Germany scared most of them into temporary order, Belarus glued herself to Russia, and Prussia somehow managed to sneak in. So why was that so important? Because...

It was Tuesday.

He had said that they would do something together after the meeting. That Canada could choose whatever it was even! After all, the two of them hadn't had "Family time" in a while. Looking back Matthew wonders why he believed him.

It was Tuesday.

Canada was used to being invisible. The personification he liked mistook him for his brother constintly. As a colony he was constantly forgotten. His twin thought he was just another state for God's sake! But he ignored the voice in his head that seemed to get steadily worse lately... usually...

It was Tuesday.

It was hard to ignore, but he usually managed it. However, the problem was that the voice never lied (stretched the truth a little at times? Maybe. But never did it lie). He was always forgotten, shoved to the sidelines if they even remembered to do that. So why was he here? They didn't need him. Not his bear, not his family, not his nation nor his people, and certainly not any of the others here. So, why was he here? Would they even notice if he disappeared like the voice told him to a couple of times here and there?

It was Tuesday.

He tried it once. Locked himself into his house and cut himself off from even Kumajirou. Matthew would never forget that one time. As much as he wanted to he wouldn't even be able... it took France three months. The others still don't even know it happened two decades later.

It was Tuesday.

They skipped over his presentation completely, America forgot him at lunch, England walked into him during break, Prussia sat on him, Kumajirou kept asking who he was... and then some. Why couldn't he be visible? Why couldn't he be remembered? 

It was Tuesday.

On the way out after the meeting Canada packed up all his stuff quickly and ran over to France. He was all ready to go, had planned out the rest of their day perfectly so that they would both enjoy it... only to be ignored. Obtaining France's attention after four tries seemed to only make it worse...

It was Tuesday.

"Oh, What can Big Brother do for-" France asks surprised, temporarily forgetting about England who takes the chance to pull away and punch his molester. The two go storming away, one attempting to escape the other relentlessly pursuing, leaving a once again forgotten Canadian behind them.

It was Tuesday.

When he was a colony he would spend hours just watching the stars. And though it seems as if the number of them goes down over the passing years, what with all the lights at night and all, he still did. It was only then that becoming lost in the masses seemed to be acceptable (even preferable) at times. So it didn't seem dangerous or strange to him when he climbed onto the windowsill of his hotel room trying to see those very stars through the street lights and his tears. The voice back in his head, whispering all those unwanted truths into his ear once more.

It was Tuesday.

He sat there for hours, time passing him by unaware, and when the last of the stars surrendered to the first rays of sunlight... So did Canada surrender to that voice of truth.

It was Tuesday.

Eyes red from unwitnessed tears closed as he took one last calming breath before sliding forward.

It was Tuesday...

...and Matthew Williams was done being invisible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you liked this installment of Week of the Broken, if you have any scenario requests please send them to me as I seem to be running out of ideas for this story. Kinda sad really, I mean there are only going to be seven and I barely made four (I have Thursday done already but can't post it due to missing Wednesday.). Any suggestion helps, doesn't matter how small it is OK? Well, that's my plug for reviews: Onto other things! It probably won't happen for a while since I want to finish something before I add yet another story but I'm opening the poll anyway. (Reminder: ALL stories will be completed. It is simply a matter of WHEN.) The choices are between Hetalia, Vampire Knight, and Loveless. Sometime this month I shall find a way to post at least the summery of each story on my profile so it isn't so blind a poll. Until next time...
> 
> ...Bye!


	4. Hidden Wednesday

Pain rips through my body and I've had enough. How many decades had it been and yet all I receive is violence and denial from my supposed "Lover". At one point in my life I would have, and did, believe him that this was my fault. That if I was quieter, if I was more attractive, if my physical appearance was older, if I was female, if I respected him more, if I did more chores....

.... If I was more like her...

He wouldn't have to do this. He would actually love me. Would take me out in public, kiss me at some point in this long useless relationship that had obviously never mattered to him, be gentle with me, unashamed, maybe even let me take off that damn mask of his.

It was Wednesday.

The hands gripping my hips so hard bruises are forming tighten even further and I force my mind to go elsewhere. The task made easy by centuries worth of practice. After all as much as I want to blame this on her the bastard had been like this even back when it wasn't me but my mother in his bed. 

And yet I loved him. Pathetic right? The whole world thought it but most refused to say it to my face. And they didn't even know about this. I wounder how they would react if they did. How she would react to the monster she left us defenseless against.

It was Wednesday.

Words, sharp hateful words, are growled into my ear but instead of attempting to understand them I purposefully ignore them. Biting off a moan as he finally, finally, hits that spot inside me that makes this whole thing even slightly bearable anymore. That spot that reminds me why I still stay by his side despite all of this... And it sickens me.

It was Wednesday.

When had I allowed myself to first be degraded to this?

When had I first stopped fighting him? 

When had I first started to allow myself to be hidden?

From the world, from my friends, from myself... even from him?

It was Wednesday.

A harsh grunt from above me as he empties himself into me before pulling out roughly and I force myself not to vomit at the feel of it sliding down my legs. Knowing that will lower my chances of him finishing me off even more then they already are. He wont. Not today.

He hasn't in the last half a decade.

Just as I suspect he rolls off of me and goes to take a shower without a single word, or even a glance, aimed in my direction. Leaving me aroused and bleeding on the bed. 

It was Wednesday.

The shower runs and I curl up in a ball trying to calm myself as any action on my part to undo my predicament would not be well received. It never had been. 

Tears start streaming down my face as I think of everything that has happened over the past centuries. The denial, the abuse, the painful intercourse that turned me on less and less with each passing time, her... And I have to wonder, was it worth it?

I hate the answer I come up with.

It was Wednesday. 

While the violence had always been there in some form or another the denial hadn't. And for all that others surrounding me at this meeting may say it was not the violence in this relationship that tore at me. No, the punches, threats, and power struggles were simply our twisted way of flirting with each other. One that had been perfected into an art over the centuries. It wasn't a big deal really, no one ever questioned France and England who were in a similar dance with each other. 

It was the secrecy.

Gone were the days that the Turk would suddenly sling me over he shoulder after a meeting and "remind me of my place". Gone were the few precious days that he would get back from being the Ottoman Empire and immediately seek me out. No longer did he occasionally brush our hands together in public or smile slightly at my resistance to whatever he had planned. No more was the quiet sigh as he was forced to except that my people would always remain "insane savages" as he liked to put it in the days my country was under his control.

They had all started packing with her arrival and left the same day she did.

It was Wednesday.

The meeting ends and immediately the bastard approaches her, attempting to convince her to leave Austria and come back. I go to roll my eyes, secure in knowing that Hungary won't give him the time of day. And in a way she doesn't.

What she does do is far worse.

It was Wednesday.

The annoyed Hungarian women whips around to face the bastard. Anger and hatred clear on her face as she reaches for her frying pan. "What do you want? Shouldn't you be with Greece right now? You two are dating after all." She hisses out through clenched teeth and the whole room seems to still and go as silent as if Germany had just called order. All eyes pinned on the three of us. 

It was Wednesday.

I should be used to it by now. After all he never allowed anyone to even perceive the notion we were together. Of course he would deny such a thing. But to know that and to personally witness it are two extremely different things. A look of disgust on his face that is a bit to convincing and eyes filled with a little to much hatred to be forced, his words stab me in the gut and I feel tears start streaming down my face. "Why would I EVER date that THING?" He spits out, as if the very idea of us being together is vile. I don't think, only respond. One minute I'm standing next to Japan a fair bit away from him...

... The next my fist is connecting to his face before I turn and run out of there.

It was Wednesday. 

Reaching the cliff outside my house I look over the water we had once played in together. Memories of secret dates playing out in my mind's eye everywhere I looked. Remembering how Turkey had freaked out the first time he saw me jump into the ocean from here I gracefully dive into the one constant in my existence over the centuries. Wishing I could simply disappear into the sea and leave everything behind. All this pain, all this betrayal, all this secrecy washed away by the very water that welcomes me like the old friend it is.

It was Wednesday.

What did I have to live for anymore anyway? The world? They only saw me as a weak pathetic shell and the bastard drove off any friends I might have as soon as he notices they are becoming close to me. Turkey? The bastard was the one who planted the idea in my head in the first place. Myself?

I barely remember who that was anymore. 

It was Wednesday.

Further and further down I swim, the water calling me under and I don't want to turn back. Feelings of freedom wrapping around me and pulling me deeper under the water. My chest starts to hurt from lack of oxygen but I push on. 

It was Wednesday.

The lack of oxygen must be getting to my brain faster then I thought it would. Above me the water moves to allow the bastard passage through my sanctuary. Traitor, though I can't blame it too much since the Turk always thought himself above getting into the water with me. Our "water play" being him trying to get me back onto dry land when I was still his province. It probably didn't know he wasn't allowed in my part of the sea. However, his urgency and the fact he was even following me is confusing.

It was Wednesday

My lungs burn for oxygen and my limbs feel heavy. My eyelids becoming harder to keep open. Though I am more experienced in the area of swimming he is taller, stronger, and has more of a reason to move faster. A strong arm encircles my waist and despite my struggles to do the opposite we start to rise to the surface.

 

It was Wednesday.

The world blurs and my mouth opens but instead of air my lungs fill with the salty water that surrounds us. Turkey moves faster but something in the back of my mind tells me he was too late and I know he knows it. He should be happy about this. He wanted this. So why does he look so frightened?

It was Wednesday.

Someone seems to be coughing and the world is black. I feel as if I should be crying, should be helping Turkey get to the surface instead of fighting him to stay down here, but I'm not. On the contrary, a smile lights up my face as he may make it but I wont. I wont be returning to that damn world. I wont be returning to being something so dirty he had to make sure no one knew we were together. I wont be returning, and he would be free. 

We both would be.

It was Wednesday....

...And I, Heracles Karpusi, personification of Greece, am done hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for not updating like usual but I really wanted to move on in this series next despite the writers block I was having in it. In my attempt to overcome the writers block though I wrote a chapter I'm not very proud of. In fact if you have any ideas on rewriting this they would be greatly appreciated. This will probably be the only chapter with sex in it by the way. I might do something in different stories but I am a firm believer that I suck at writing such scenes. I promise that the Thursday installment will be fast in delivery and more like the previous chapters to this one. For anyone interested in knowing I'm doing Romano next. Reviews, comments, and suggestions welcome as always. Until next time...
> 
> ... Bye!


	5. Expectant Thursday

Romano stands there, still as one of the sculptures his brother is known for. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t even breathe. Unable to look away as everything he worked so hard for is so easily and carelessly destroyed by the younger brother he had given everything else to. Unable to stop the tears sliding silently down his face as the man he had hurried to grow up for asked to be with another. 

“So Cute!! Ita-chan will you marry me?!”

The words stab straight into Romano’s heart. Killing everything and leaving behind a cold, numbing, hurt that also fades into nothingness rather quickly.

It was Thursday.

Any other day he could take it, damn it, any other day he could have expected it even…

…. But today was Thursday…

…. The anniversary of the day Spain had taken him from Austria’s place.

….The anniversary of the day Spain had started teaching him how to plant tomatoes.

…. The anniversary of the day Spain had asked HIM to grow up so HE could marry him.

It was Thursday.

And while the two most important people in his life smiled and laughed all Lovino wanted to do was dissapear forever…

…. So why not? What was stoping him, weak, overshadowed, forgotten, unimportant, loud, obnoxius, violent, Southern Italy, from doing so now? Now that even Spain and Feliciano don’t want him?

Turning around he walks back up to his room completely unnoticed by the happy couple still laughing together outside.

He should have expected it really. It was only himself he could blame. Spain was almost never serious so why would he have been then? Or maybe he had been at the time but Lovino had either taken too long or was no longer seen as good enough for the Spaniard. Either way the fault lay on Romano’s own shoulders. For not only believing the Tomato Bastard but expecting that anyone could see him as not only an equal to Feliciano but as the better of the two twins.

Hadn’t Grandpa Rome chosen Feliciano over him? Hadn’t Austria given him away without a second thought? Hadn’t Spain always given Feliciano the better gifts from his adventures? Hadn’t the world as a whole as well as the Italian government itself chosen Feliciano as the main representative of their country even though as the older twin and the one who had the country’s capital in his section the title was supposed to be his by birthright? Hadn’t the world always run to protect Feliciano first without sparing him a glance even when he was the most injured out of the two? Hadn’t Spain tried to swap him for Feliciano when they were younger?

Hadn’t he been told over and over and over again way too many times to count that he should act more like his younger brother? 

But in the end, no matter how much you try to meet them, some expectations are simply much too great to achieve. 

It was Thursday.

Locking his bedroom door softly and picking up the gun he had for when he was walking around the Italian underground; Romano unlocks the safety. 

It was Thursday…

… And Lovino Vargas, Personification of Southern Italy, was done trying to meet expectations…

 

!!!BANG!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you like WotB so far. If you have any suggestions for the last two chapters I will receive them gladly. If Thursday seemed to be written slightly differently then what your used to that would be because it was actually written about a month before Sunday and my writing style has changed since then at least a little bit. I was thinking of getting a Fictionpress but I'm not to sure since I already have a Fanfiction and a Wattpad. Besides, that site is still slightly confusing to me... Comments, suggestions, and/or reviews are always welcome. Until next time....
> 
> ...Bye!


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